


Counting

by Barbayat



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Very Secret Diary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-14 19:42:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/840628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barbayat/pseuds/Barbayat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Reichenbach Fall; Sherlock is gone and Molly is more confused than ever by what Sherlock told her and her feelings for him, so she takes a pen and writes down her thoughts ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Counting

**Author's Note:**

> Sentence structure is on purpose a bit wonky, as I imagined Molly just pouring out her thoughts ...

I never was one for keeping diaries. As a young girl I tried to. My aunt had given me this beautiful book, pages in a pale pink with a rose ornament in the the lower corners. I felt that I needed to fill these pages with something, so I started writing about my days. Then I started writing about how I felt about everything, especially when the thing with Jane happened.

Then a boy at school, snatched it and well - that was not a particular nice day. It's not pleasant to have your feelings mocked in public. When I started my blog, I was not even sure what I tried to do. I shared so little of what I truly felt because that would have been more humiliating than that Christmas party at his place. At least, there I got a kiss. How pathetic is that? There I was feeling like I was back in school, having Steven Barlington quote highlights from my diary. A minute later, I felt like it had all been worth it, just for that.

That is just the problem. There is no one I can talk to about any of this. Even if I still had a trustworthy best friend like Jane, who could I talk to about all of this? I am too scared to even write down on paper anywhere what I did. I know he would not approve. It's a risk, a minor one, because nobody knows but what if the unlikely happens and someone finds this page? He rightfully blame me for being silly, sentimental Molly, but I need to get this out of my head. Need down to write down my stream of consciousness because it is driving me mad. So I'll be vague - after all I know what I am talking about here and nobody else is supposed to see that. So I can be vague in my own diary, can't I?

Because he is dead and yet I don't think he'll ever be really dead for me. It was easier before, it really was. Having him come by every other day, asking for favours, spending time with me in the lab. He was only saying nice things when he wanted something, but it was nice imagining that they were at least true on some level. There was almost a comfortable distance in his cold, dismissive manner. Reminding me every now and then that I was inadequate. It kept my hopes in check, allowed just for a bit of wishful thinking with the knowledge that it would always just be a dream.

Why did he need to change that? I would have done anything for him, however little I thought he thought of me. Because I love him and it was so much easier to live with thinking that I did not count. I try to convince myself that he just said that in the spirit of all the other niceties connected to him wanting something. But I remember that surprised look when I told him I knew that I did not count. The way he spoke to me, when he came to me, before the fall. Counting does not make it better, it just makes me ache with false hope and things that never will be. Yet, I can not forget these words, everything I felt in that moment. How can anyone say something so beautiful and heart warming and make it hurt so much? But I embrace it, because I meant it when I told him if there was anything, it would be okay.


End file.
